Hannibal Unbound
by Alice Ariell
Summary: The aftermath of what happened in Hannibal's kitchen still haunts all those involved. As Will tries to come to terms with who he is now and what he still has to do to ensure justice for the dead, Hannibal questions his decision to leave Will behind...
1. Chapter 1

_Will__'__s head tilts back into the stream, allowing water to swim past his ears. There is a slow and steady heat swelling from the sun. Abigail giggles, feet away, slightly splashing as she stretches flat against the water. Alana brings her easy calm as she hums a soft melody from the shore. Jack slathers on sun block as he floats in an inflatable chair. Beverly dives from a high boulder. Will is dumbfounded. Even with his wild imagination, he could never have predicted such a perfect moment in time. But, after all, the summer is inevitable__…_

Low murmurs in the room. A strangled sob. Steady beeping. Cold.

_"__When I was little, I would imagine I was adopted. That I had a perfect mom and dad that would take me away from him__…__and then you saved me,__" __Abigail muses as she and Will continue to float along a river without end. _

_ "__I used to imagine I adopted you. I wanted to__…__help you feel safe. I knew you needed that, and I__…__I didn__'__t know how to give it to you. I failed you,__" __Will admits slowly. _

_ "__You could have stopped him. You were going to. But you weren__'__t the only one who knew how to use a lure.__"_

"I told him to go inside, Jack," Alana whispers in a broken voice.

Will feels a hand on his. He cannot move. He can hardly think. He's swimming…

"I. Pushed. Him. Alana. I pushed him when I knew he was baiting the Ripper. I pushed him when I knew that the Ripper wanted nothing more than to destroy us all. Hell, I told Will he needed therapy and _had_ to see Hannibal, I…" even the unshakable Jack Crawford is weeping. Will's nearly lifeless body lies still in the hospital bed, invaded by tubes and machines working tirelessly to keep him alive. If only he could tell them he'd worked all this out in therapy weeks ago. That he was ready to sink back and out of this life. He wondered if the next would be peaceful…

_"__He can__'__t hurt us anymore, ya know,__" __Abigail says with a smile. _

_ "__He will always live in a room inside my head,__" __Will warns her._

_ "__Yeah. But what makes you think you__'__ll be in your head much longer? I think all we have to do is close our eyes, and we__'__ll float away into the calm forever.__"_

_ "__I want to.__"_

Hannibal Lecter sips absently at an espresso. Bedelia glances calmly at the busy Rue. A tablet lies on the small table between them, aglow with an article open. There is a large image of a mortally wounded man lying half naked on a hospital bed, skin pale but for the sickly green light the monitors cast against his skin.

"Tasteless," Bedelia finally utters.

"It's archaic. She's placing his head on a spike for the villagers to see," Hannibal says in an even tone. He does not want to reveal any emotion in front of his equal. He has paid the price of vulnerability and refuses to admit that the image before him sickens him. He knows that Will had to pay dearly for his deception, but in the end, he is pleased that Will is strong enough to survive his gutting. Now that the teacup is broken beyond repair, there is no longer a threat.

"Mr. Graham has suffered enough," Bedelia agrees.

"Do we not all suffer?"

Bedelia looks dubious. "You cannot deny that few mortal men have endured what Will Graham has…and lived."

"Do you call what Will is doing now, 'living'?"

"No," she responds quickly. "But one day, he may rise from the ashes."

Hannibal smiles. "Nothing would make me happier than to look up and see him walking towards me."

"What will prevent him from doing just that?"

"I took away his reason to live. As Jack Crawford took away mine."

"You believe that had it not been for Mr. Crawford, you would have succeeded in a total seduction of his mind?"

"All alternative scenarios thrum with kinetic energy before the fatality of occurrence decimates them."

Hannibal signals for a dessert menu.

"I used to imagine what it would be like to be with you. Wake up naked, covered in puppies and look over at you…"

Alana's eyes trace the tube from the respirator to Will's lips. His chest is exposed and covered in wires and bandages. A nurse is stationed just outside the room. The team has had a close call with him already tonight. Everyone is on edge.

"I should have trusted you…the way I trusted _him_…but you scared me, Will. You didn't hold anything back, and I…hold _everything _back. Just the way he taught me to…" she buries her face in her hands. She is still in a wheelchair-both of her legs broke during her fall, not to mention the damage to her spine. But she doesn't care. She is lucky. Compared to what happened to Will. To Abigail. Her throat constricts. Darkness enters her heart like an old friend.

And then she feels his pointer finger twitch.

**12 Weeks Later**

The sun is hot against Will's hand as he steadies the gun. His trigger finger itches. A team of agents flank him.

His perp grins dumbly at him and scratches his groin. "What are you going to do with that, pretty boy?"

"Martin Ramsey, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you-"

"Waiiiiit. You're that guy. That _guy. _The one that saved that little Hobbs bitch."

The gun fires before the electrons in Will's brain connect.

"WILL."

He saunters into Jack's office, then slouches in the chair in front of him, looking bored.

"What the hell happened back there? We were covering you." Jack eyes his protege with distrust. Ever since he returned to the FBI, he had seemed different. At least in the hospital, Jack could read him. A Broken Man. This person sitting before him had an entirely different sensibility. He was throwing Jack off, and he didn't like it.

"He had a knife, Jack."

"He had a knife. And you had a gun. And backup. And now he's in the ICU."

"Sometimes bad things happen to bad people," he says with a shrug.

"What is _wrong _with you? Is your brain inflamed again or did Hannibal dig his hands so deeply into your skull that you can't comprehend right and wrong anymore!" Jack bellows.

Will makes laser beam eye contact. The intensity of his gaze bores into Jack's stone brown eyes. "I know the difference between right and wrong, Jack. Martin Ramsey destroyed seven women. I destroyed his ability to do that again. One just sin is a small price for seven devastations."

"A 'just' sin? Now you're arguing that there can be justice in sinning…you _know_ who you sound like, don't you." This is not a question. This is an accusation.

"Ramsey lost an appendage, Jack. That doesn't mean I'm going to _eat it_. He was apprehended _because of me_ and will serve his jail sentence. I don't see what the problem is."

The unshakable Jack Crawford is at a loss for words. The man sitting before him is cocky, narcissistic, aggressive and unaffected.

"The problem is that you broke the law, Will. You disfigured Ramsey unnecessarily-"

"The poetry of his body will be written in articles read all over the world," Will says slowly, a strange glint in his eyes. The first glint that Jack fully comprehends.

"No. Will, no. You can't do this. You can't bait him. Not again."

"I don't know what you're taking about," Will says with a smile.

"No. He won't buy it this time. And you can't afford to make any more mistakes. My superiors have been debating whether or not to arrest you and have you evaluated again. What happened today may given them cause enough to do it."

Will considers this. "If they put me in Baltimore again, I'll give Freddie Lounds the exclusive interview of the year. Her fan base is already in the hundred thousands. I'll tell her how the FBI has been abusing me, and that now you've decided to sweep me under the rug to keep Hannibal's escape under wraps."

Jack gazes at Will sadly. He cannot dispute that that is _exactly_ what his superiors want. Purnell kept pressing Jack to have Will brought in for a new psych eval, but he just hadn't had the heart to do it. She was worried, with good reason, that Will was a loose cannon the FBI just couldn't afford.

"You can't bait Hannibal by committing crimes. There was a time when you understood that. Now…you're still under his influence."

"I'm not."

"You aren't yourself. Your moral compass has been tampered with, Will."

"_All I want to do is catch him_."

"Consequences don't matter to a man that doesn't care what happens to him as long as he gets what he wants."

"What are you saying? I'm being masochistic?" Will's shoulders crack involuntarily.

"I'm saying I think you've chose to play a dangerous game."

Will's back straightens. "Chosen? Ever since you invited Hannibal Lecter to psychoanalyze me, I've been forced to play his game. Play or die. Be interesting or be dessert. But the rules have changed."

"And what rules were those?"

"As long as I was weaker than he was, he could move me like one of so many pawns. But he was bored with pawns and no true opponent. He built me up into…someone he liked, but someone that could potentially hurt him. He enjoyed the danger…enjoys…"

"Even so, Hannibal doesn't make mistakes. He would never risk coming back here."

"Maybe not. But what do you think he would do if _I_ came to _him_?"

"He tried to kill you, Will. He tried to kill us all. He is stronger and smarter than you'll ever be. What makes you think he won't do to you what he did to Miriam Lass? To Abigail?"

"I'll have backup."

"I can't guarantee that. Not that it matters, since _we don__'__t know where he is._"

"No, we don't. Not yet."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dear Fannibals, The He-Ate-Us has returned, and though we are still in bitter mourning over the aftermath of Everything In Season . My. Lord, this is the time to band together and get all creative and novel-y! My work keeps me very busy, but I always reserve time for writing. I love Bryan Fuller****'****s creation so much that I refuse to stop contemplating all of the many routes season 3 may go. Let us meander into the rues of Paris and search for our anti-hero together****…****allonz-y! **

Chapter 2

Hannibal Lecter strokes the black and white picture of his former protege. Smiling, he passes the newspaper to Bedelia. She reads the article in a few moments, sips absently at her tea, then looks into his eyes with a blank expression.

"Sometimes I imagine he had not betrayed me. Sometimes I picture walking into my kitchen and seeing Abigail sneak a glass of wine as Will prepares dinner…"

Bedelia bows her head. "You miss him."

Hannibal sniffs. "I miss the ideal…I imagined he was."

"Someone who could understand you completely. Someone who accepts you, despite your…proclivities," Bedelia guesses in a hushed tone.

"Yes." Hannibal smoothes the wrinkles in his relaxed cotton button down. His new disguise is proving less pleasant than he had contemplated. He looks deeply into her eyes. "_You _accept me."

"I do." A glance at the cobblestones. Another sip of tea.

"Why?"

The corners of her lips twitch. "You are…unique. Since you were a young man, I knew you were…special. Worth protecting."

"Protecting?" He is amused. "Protecting from whom?"

"From people with less…vision."

"I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Bedelia looks incredulous. "Your behavior is incredibly reckless. You place yourself in impossible situations from which there is no escape. You pretend you can play Houdini forever, but you can't, Hannibal. One day, you'll lock yourself into chains you cannot remove."

"Chains are a curious thing. Prometheus was punished by Zeus, for giving man the gift of fire, by being chained to a rock. A vulture would come and eat his liver, and each day it would grow back to restart the feast. I've often wondered if the vulture was a cursed God that resented Prometheus."

"A fowl with foul intentions," Bedelia grins.

"In some versions of the myth, Heracles saves Prometheus. The two work together to destroy the vulture."

"Surely you can understand the vulture's appetites," she dares to say.

He smiles to himself. "Sometime's I dream I am Prometheus, bound to the rock. Will flies toward me with great, white wings. He smiles at me as he guts me, sticks his hands inside me, and tears out my liver. He eats it raw, hovering in front of me, his chest glistening with my blood." Bedelia's eyes dilate. "There are nights I imagine that Will is Prometheus and I am Heracles. Most regularly, I dream that I have great golden wings. Will is already cut open, chained. All I have to do is pluck his organs like grapes off the vine."

This is the most honest conversation the two have ever shared. And she is terrified.

Five minutes of silence pass. Finally, Bedelia says, "I want you to participate in an exercise, Hannibal."

"An exercise? Certainly we are passed such trivial thought processes."

"Indulge me." More suffocating silence. "I want you to stop reading what is written about Will Graham. Stop wondering about him."

Hannibal's lips purse involuntarily. "Thinking about him is not a choice I can make."

"I thought you were in control of _all_ of your decisions. Why is he an exception to the rule?"

"He was always…exceptional. Even when he was quite rude." Hannibal smiles, recalling their chance meeting, how disagreeable Will was. How broken. How easily manipulated…

The waiting room of his state mandated psychiatrist is small and cramped. The woman across from him, reading a worn hardcover of _War and Peace _sighs. She looks up at Will."I've never read something so _tedious_ in my life," she says, smiling.

"No, I suppose not," he agrees, with a quick, awkward smirk.

She closes the book and replaces it inside her oversized leather bag. "I'm not really a magazine person."

"You don't seem to be a Tolstoy person either. Let me guess, Dickens?"

"Well, yes," she replies, fixing a strand of winding brown hair behind her ear. "But my Russian Literature Professor doesn't seem to care what I'd rather read."

Dr. Nichols steps out of his office. He is a tall American with peppered hair in a navy blue suit. Will's new FBI appointed psychiatrist beams with interest. "Good afternoon, Molly. How are you feeling?"

Molly quirks a smile but avoids eye contact and lowers her eyes back to her novel. "Wonderful," she responds dryly.

"Good. Good. Will, please come in."

A slow, annoyed exhale. He enters the office with a face of stone. At least he wasn't talking to Hannibal. But this man could never understand what he had experienced in his former doctor's 'care.'

Will expects to see a simple office. He enters a room outfitted for a polygraph test. "What's this?"

"Please take off your jacket, Mr. Graham. We'll need to unbutton the shirt as well, to place the leads."

"Excuse me? What is this? I thought this was therapy. Not an invasive interrogation. Jack didn't mention any of this."

"That is because Mr. Crawford is not privy to your case any more."

"My _case_? Am I under investigation or being charged with something?"

"No, no. Not yet anyway," Dr. Nichols offers an unreassuring smile. "We just need to make sure that Dr. Lecter didn't turn you into a threat. Like he did to Miriam Lass. And Abigail Hobbs."

Will's hands itch to beat this man bloody. "Don't say her name," he whispers, menacingly.

Mr. Nichols nods. "Would you say the name 'Abigail' triggers you into anger, Mr. Graham?"

Clenched jaw. "Just. Don't." Will thought he was prepared for this ambush. Instead, he feels a cold sweat. The itch in his hands begins to _burn_.

"Was it Abigail that disarmed you? So that your captor could attack you?"

A white light. "My _captor_?"

"You were Hannibal Lecter's prisoner, were you not? He forced you to come to his home and be the subject of his therapy. Under his influence, he fed you human flesh."

The room begins to tilt. He feels hands pull his coat off. "Stop," he protests.

"Mr. Graham, you need to cooperate. You were implicit in multiple murders-"

"No, _no,_ I was-"

"_And _mutilated the body of a man in a way that will haunt many of us."

Will cannot deny that this was his most horrific act. What he did to Randall Tier, in the name of getting close to Hannibal was…unforgivable. He unbuttons the top of his shirt and sits down. He rolls up his shirt sleeves. Dr. Nichols sits across from him, hands resting on a stack of tests.

**Reviews spur me on3**


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3**

The drone of words dent the windows of Will's mind. "What is your greatest regret?" He forgets where the words are coming from. He forgets Dr. Nichols' cheap, car dealer eyes. He feels Hannibal tugging at the edges of his mind, like folded corners of a page from a burnt book.

"Being naive about my expectations."

"What were the expectations of your deep cover mission with Dr. Lecter?" Dr. Nichols leans forward. Will's visions plays tricks on him. Suddenly his new psychiatrist is wearing a sharp, plaid suit. And then he's wearing a person suit with a different doctor's face.

Will swallows. "I expected to die."

"You almost _did.__" _Now the voice is laden with an accented gravel.

"Consequences of the only cards left for me to play."

Will feels close to vomiting when the room spins with tilt-a-whirl speed. The impeccably macabre office thunders to a halt.

Dr. Lecter tilts his neck, ever. so. slightly. "Is something wrong?"

Will closes his eyes and slows his breathing. He had become prone to panic attacks. Instead of seeing the black, horned monster, he was now stalked by the man in the flesh- who always held the curved blade. He knows Hannibal isn't even in the country…or _thinks _he knows. In truth, Will feels a sickness in his gut, telling him his torture could not be over. Not with both men alive and free.

"No. No, I'm…fine. I'm fine," Will stammers as he opens his eyes.

Still his dearly departed doctor in a three piece suit. "Why would you risk your life?"

"It's like you said before. I was his…victim.

_Abigail crying as Hannibal cuts into her throat. Hobbs cuts into her. Hannibal. Hobbs. Will. Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal. Her blood splashing against Will__'__s face, his mouth__…_

"I believed I was working under cover with Jack. Maybe I was. But I was…_I_ _let him manipulate me_, naively dreaming of his arrest, but knowing in my heart that the devil is always ten steps ahead."

Dr. Nichols leans forward. Will is finally snapping out of his episode. "I want you to honestly listen to what I am about to tell you Mr. Graham. The atrocities Hannibal Lecter has performed will be catalogued amongst the horrors of history. He is a psychopath the likes of which can only stem from evil. But he is not evil itself."

"You don't know that," Will finds himself whispering.

"I do," suddenly Dr. Nichols looks sympathetic. Kind, even. "I know that he was a born, that he was a child, that he grew up and experienced things that would shape what he became as a man."

"That doesn't mean he isn't the devil."

Dr. Nichols sighs and writes something down on his note pad. "Mr. Graham, people who believe they can see the devil are often categorized as schizophrenic-"

"_That__'__s_ what this is about," Will says in a whisper. "Someone in the FBI wants to sweep me under the rug. Let me guess, Purnell is pulling your strings?"

"Paranoia is also very common in patients suffering for schizophrenic episodes." Dr. Nichols adds, eyes focused on his new scribblings.

"Just tell me if I'm right," Will asks, jaw tensed.

"Ms. Purnell _is _in charge of your case, but that does not mean that-"

"Stop right there. I won't be answering any more of your questions. When I was held in Baltimore, Ms. Purnell offered to make life sentence in a maximum security asylum _comfortable _for me. As long as I kept my mouth shut. Well you can tell Ms. Purnell that my lips are sealed. I know Dr. Lecter is just a man. But I am the _only_ person capable of catching him."

"The entire FBI is working around the clock-"

"What happened to me…to Jack_…__could_ have been prevented if she had not intervened. So tell her I'm ready for her to make it up to me. Tell her…I'm ready to end this."

Agent Purnell purses her lips. "Mr. Graham, I do not know why you suddenly believe that you can act as an agent of the FBI. You have always been classified as a high risk, and that was when Jack had clout enough to defend you."

She sits perched on the edge of her seat. Will leans forward in his, towards their shining mahogany barrier. "I can catch him."

"The way you and Jack caught him in his kitchen?" she snaps back.

"I was caught off guard," Will says quietly.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Abigail was his _checkmate_. He'll never be able to surprise me like that again."

"He gutted you, Mr. Graham. In the official report, you claimed to have been carrying a fire arm at the time."

"Yes."

"Why'd you let him get so close?" her expression is a mixture of bafflement and disgust.

Will takes a moment to organize his response. "It isn't easy to explain being in Hannibal Lecter's thrall. I was…unprepared. I thought I knew enough to predict him. But I never imagined I would see her again. And I didn't imagine I would survive."

"To be honest, neither did I." Purnell says with her eyebrows raised. "You didn't see yourself in the hospital. There were _many _close calls." She would never admit it, but she spent a great deal of time checking up on him. A sense of guilt played hide-and-seek in her skull.

"I survived him," he whispers, eyes closed, envisioning the photograph Freddie Lounds took and sold to the media.

"Perhaps only because he want you to," she replies, carefully. "I cannot offer you the support of the FBI."

"What_ can_ you offer me?"

The room is sitting close to the event horizon of circumstance. "Officially? I can refer you to an FBI psychiatric facility. I can also warn you that the government is not keen on a written version of your story hitting the press."

"What the FBI wants and what it _needs_ are two very different things," he replies through clenched teeth.

A squint of the eyes. "What is your relationship with Mason Verger?"

Will is stunned for a moment. He hadn't pondered _his _perspective. "I don't have a relationship with him."

"But you _did _have one with his sister."

"The FBI is poking 'round my lovers now?"

"Ms. Verger was at your bedside more than once. I spoke with her in the hospital. She was very concerned about you."

Will is shocked by how touched he is to hear of Margot's concern. Though she appeared to have used him in her attempt to secure an heir, he didn't doubt that she had every reason to act in desperation. Mason's decision to make his own sister barren disgusted him in ways that Hannibal matched.

"And you are interested in this information because?" he grumbles.

"Again, I am limited in what I can officially discuss. For instance, I couldn't tell you that Mason Verger has approached the FBI in regards to apprehending Hannibal Lecter. He has offered considerable financial support."

Again, a wave of confusion and doubt. He wanted Hannibal to be apprehended, but he didn't want Mason Verger to exact his revenge. Something about that ending was revolting to him. One monster destroying another, becoming more powerful…He needed to see Hannibal one last time. The scar ached to see its maker.

"You can't trust Mason with information. He's insane. He'll want to trap Lecter and kill him himself. Preferably with his pigs."

"No, the _FBI_ can't trust him." Purnell glances at her watch. "I have a meeting. I hope our conversation has brought some clarity to you, Mr. Graham."

As she vanishes through a set of glass doors, Will realizes what he must do. He grits his teeth and stands.

Bedelia arranges a fistful of wildflowers as Hannibal enters the kitchen. Noticing a stem longer than the rest, he selects a blade. She swallows and steps aside. He gingerly removes the uneven flower, cuts it, and then places it back into the arrangement in a new and perfect position.

"How was your day?" he asks, going to retrieve two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"Like watching an oil painting dry," she replies.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Mine was actually quite interesting," he gloats.

"Oh?"

"I've discovered that my current position may be in jeopardy." Now in Tuscany with a forged identity, Hannibal chose to become curator of a rather ancient and sacred museum. His knowledge and demeanor won him the job, which he only wanted as a pastime, really. Nothing bothered Hannibal more than boredom-other than rudeness, of course.

"It was always a risk. But you seemed…adamant. What has happened?"

"Nothing to be concerned about. I have caught the eye of a tenacious detective, but he poses no real threat."

"Not the way Jack Crawford did."

Hannibal smiles. "No, certainly not. Still, every mistake bares fruit from which we must taste and grow."

"Your ever-broadening palate longs for a new flavor?" She knows she is treading water, but she cannot help herself. She feels certain he has killed again, and recently.

"Actually, I long for something I know too well. This foolish detective is simply spurring me to act on my desires."

"Which are?" She fears his answer.

He pauses, sniffs his wine, and locks eyes with her. "I've been thinking about all those I've left behind. Particularly, Will." His answer does not surprise her. "While I am here, enjoying life with you, he is in his little house in Virginia, with his memories. I'm sure that feels like being in a prison cell."

"You had no trouble institutionalizing him," she notes, taking a needed sip of wine.

Hannibal looks confused. "I merely suggested that Will call Jack when he discovered Abigail's ear. _Jack_ arrested him and sent him for treatment. Perhaps Will let that memory shrink out of sight."

"Ah, yes. That poor girl…" Bedelia grips her gaze onto the flowers.

Hannibal looks pensive. "Do you think me cruel?"

Bedelia's eyes face him with cool honesty. "I think your curiosity gets the better of you."

"You think I lack control?" this conversation has become infinitely amusing to him.

"You use control like a shield, but also a weapon. You allow Curiosity and Chance to become the foot soldiers of Control, but in doing so, you leave them to their own agendas."

"What is _your_ agenda, Dr. DuMaurier?" he steps forward so that her eyes are on his neck, his lips.

"I think you need someone who understands you. We all do." Kindness can be a kind of narcotic.

Hannibal took her face in his hand, stroked her hair. "You remind me so much of her, you know." She knew he was referring to his aunt, Lady Murasaki. They had discussed her _at length. _He kissed her calmly on the lips before briskly leaving the kitchen. He had arrangements to make.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Will reads the letter for a seventh time. He smells the envelope, imaging Paris. A tiny cafe table. Summer wind swimming in truffles and cheeses.

Good evening Will,

His eyes are flies caught in a web of calligraphy. He can hear the thick guttural accent so clearly. He imagines Hannibal in the doorway of his office. Remembers the way he always locked the door behind him…

I have asked my messenger to forward you this letter in the evening. Since we are no longer able to share conversations, I thought we could at least begin a correspondence, of sorts. Do you still dream of fishing with Abigail? I confess, I never did. Tell me, do you dream of seeing me again? Would you still like to use your hands? A blade can do far more damage…

I often try to slip back into memories-of you. Jack called you his broken pony, but we know better than that. My psychiatrist has warned me against pursuing you again, but I find the world quite colorless now that I can't see through your eyes. I can picture you here, Will. You were always meant for better than a wolf's trap. Perhaps one day you'll leave the quiet comfort of home. See the world through my eyes.

-H. L.

The dogs begin to whine uneasily beneath him an hour after he took his first look at the letter. He has been standing, frozen, ever since. He cannot comprehend emotion any more. They have been siphoned from him like oil from the deep. All he can do is _think_.

Will. See the world through my eyes. Will. See the world through my eyes. Will. See the world

… … …

Hannibal breathes in the atmosphere of the speak easy. Wine is on every table, there are stains in the wood, waitresses pass gracefully. He notes that Dr. DuMaurier looks particularly pale. The room swims in his vision while he thinks about Will Graham. His shattered body.

"…although you may not enjoy the atmosphere, I find it a pleasant addition to our adventure," she says softly. She cannot escape him, but she can surround herself with people…

He turns to her and smiles. "I agree. The past is ever present in my mind."

"The past? Or Will Graham?" A knowing look from his psychiatrist.

He scoffs. "Will Graham _is _my past. I only wonder if there was a way…" he stops himself. There isn't one.

"A way to…see him again?"

After a long moment, "Yes."

Bedelia smiles sadly. "There is."

He does not seem to understand. A look of false confusion furrows his brow. But then he purses his lips. "I have no intention of being captured by the FBI."

"Every action that we take is dictated by our desires. I've never known you as a man exposed by emotions, but…you _butchered_ your obsessions…

There is a deadly look in Hannibal Lecter's eyes.

"…what you did to Abigail Hobbs…" She gives him a once over, then takes a long gulp of wine.

They each allow that statement to hang in the air as the lights dim and the music shifts. A young woman steps behind the microphone. "Bonjour." She has a distinctly French lilt. "This is _Across the Universe. _Merci."

"_Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither wildly as they slip away across the universe. Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind, possessing and caressing me_…"

Hannibal's ears perk. Her voice is dark and smokey. She sounds broken by wisdom. He observes the way she gazes at the audience with tired eyes.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world__…__Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe_…_Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe__…"_

_ "_Your niece is lovely, Bedelia. Such a passionate voice." He does not compliment lightly.

Bedelia smiles too quickly. Nervously. "Yes. Apollo has a gift."

"_Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns. It calls me on and on, across the universe__…"_

The song ends. The audience applauds mildly. Apollo blushes and thanks the audience again. She spots Bedelia in the crowd, exits the stage, and glides toward their table. "Delia!" she says before swinging her arms around her aunt.

"Hello!" she says, the wind taken out of her. "Apollo, this is my friend, Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

The young woman smiles warmly at him and extends her hand. They shake hands. He notes her exquisitely delicate touch.

"Oh wait. I'm sorry, this is _the_ Dr. Hannibal Lecter?" Apollo says amusedly.

Hannibal focuses his gaze on Bedelia. "The one and only," he says in a tone similar to hers.

"Can I ask you a very rude question?" She is holding back laughter.

_What has Bedelia been telling her? _he wonders. "By all means."

"Ca vas. Shall you invite me for dinner sometime soon? I'm only visiting Tuscany for a week or so before going back to University in Bordeaux…"

Hannibal reaches for her hand to kiss. He does not think her rude at all. Rather… _complimentary_ in fact. Her innocent trust reminds him of someone…

Hannibal leans forward. Smells her perfume. Chanel. Her dark black hair falls in curls around her pale neck. Her sharp blue eyes snap into his gaze. "The world sits in dark rooms filled with wine and music, hoping to hear your voice call to them through the darkness." he says, holding his glass up in her honor. She lifts hers to his and clink without touching. They sip the wine simultaneously. Bedelia follows them with a long swallow.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

…

Freddie Lounds is wearing a garish shade of green. She polishes the lens of her camera, before flashing it in Will's eyes. The Behavior Unit still feels like a fractured spine. Will avoids the eye contact of everyone in the building, but he cannot avoid the eye of the camera. A devilish thing.

"I was surprised to receive your call, agent. But then again, I always said you were irrational and reckless." (Her sad attempt at small talk.)

"Why do you hate me?" he asks, tired. "Is it because I was rude to you when we first met?"

"Perhaps a trait I share with the now-infamous 'Cannibal Lecter'?"

"Can you blame me for being rude to a pair of psychopaths?"

"I won't if you will agree to the same terms." She looks at him unabashedly.

"Do not. _Flirt_. With me." Now there is genuine disgust in his eyes. "I will never forget _your_ part in what was done to me."

Freddie's jaw tenses. She pulls back. "I am _sorry__…_about what I said about you. About more than that."

Will takes a deep breath. "This is your chance to make up for it. _Help me catch him, Freddie_."

She nods, grimly. "It's the least I can do. Frankly, I'd enjoy seeing him burn." A moment of silence. A confirmation of emotion. Souls darken with experience. "Now, tell me. What do you need me to write?"

"Write that I have been reinstated at the BU as a special consultant. I have adopted another dog. A golden terrier. I've met someone…and I'm happy, all things considered. Happy to be rid of the nightmare."

Now Freddie's jaw drops. "Who is she?"

"I don't want her name in the press, for security reasons."

"He would never risk returning to the States…that would be reckless." And yet she knows she is not dealing with a man governed by the laws of nature. "Whatever your angle is, I think people will be happy to read that you're ok. I bet I could sell this interview to the _New York Times_."

"I hope you do. I hope they sell it everywhere."

"They will."

…

Hannibal Lecter reads the headline.

He stares at the picture.

He drinks a glass of wine.

He stares at the picture.

Hannibal Lecter reads the headline.

He drinks a glass of wine.

He drinks a glass of wine.

Hannibal Lecter reads the headline.

He stares at the picture.

will.

Will.

WILL.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Ding-dong. _

Will dreams of Abigail, earless, helpless, broken as the day he met her.

_Ding-dong._

He feels the blade inside of him, tearing him apart.

_Ding-dong. Ding-dong. _

Hannibal holding his face, telling him to lean back into oblivion. To surrender.

_Knockknockknock_

Will wakes with a start.

_ Knockknockknock_

He glances at the clock. 4am. Who would wake him at this hour? All of his friends are gone. Dead.

After throwing a robe over his sweaty white t-shirt and blue briefs, he opens the door. An older man he does not recognize smiles at him from behind the screen.

"Mr. Graham? May I come in?"

Will sniffles. Winter air is seeping through the glass. "I don't know you."

"Ah, yes, how silly of me. My name is Cordell. I work for Mason Verger. He has asked me to bring you some news." Will stares at him. "I had hoped we could discuss this in doors. Would you be so kind?" He gestures towards Will's living room. His eyes are all over the place. Like cockroaches in a dark room.

"I'd rather not. The last time I saw Mason Verger, he was cutting his own face off."

"Yes. Well, in any case, Mason prefers to see you in person before you go."

"Go? What are you—" Suddenly he notices two men in his peripheral vision. They are stepping out of a Lincoln, walking towards the house. He slams the front door in Cordell's face, sprints towards his rifle, feels for it under his desk. His hands grip the handle as he hears shouting outside.

…

_Ring. Ring. Ring. _

He picks up. Too curious…

"Mr. Graham. Mason has paid these two gentleman a lot of money to burn your house to the ground, should you not cooperate. And believe me, they are not fond of dogs."

"He found Hannibal, didn't he?"

"Come outside and allow us to escort you to Mason. All will be explained."

Will contemplates. He knows he has no choice. There is only one path, and that path is towards Hannibal.

The moment he steps outside, both men descend upon him, holding him by the arms.

"I'm coming with you. This isn't necessary," he bristles at them, failing the fight of breaking free.

Cordell smiles. "One can't be too careful." He pulls a syringe from his jacket pocket. After examining Will's expression of loathing and fear, he coos, "Don't worry, it's just a mild sedative. We have a long trip ahead of us."

xxx

The sound of chamber music fills the room. Will wakes to find himself in a room that resembles a ward in a clinic from some Hemingway novel. _A Farewell to Arms_. He looks around, but there are no soldiers. No pretty nurse. Just a feeling of intense heaviness and nausea. Even if his wrists weren't bound, he would hardly be able to twitch. A "light sedative." He knows what it feels like to wake from a coma. Drug-addled pain. He's done it twice already. This was…_thicker. Slower. _He sees the IV still taped to his arm.

Cordell strides into the room.

Will feels like throwing up. "Mason. What does he know about-"

Cordell shines a light in his left eye. "Mason doesn't know anything. _Yet_. We'll make sure your disappearance becomes publicized, and that the press blames Hannibal, of course. We've already contacted that spritely woman, Ms. Lounds."

"He won't take the bait. He won't come." He has to close his eyes as another wave of drugs crashes into him.

"Oh, I think he might. Mason is going to offer to sell you to Dr. Lecter in exchange for…_dealing_ with Margot. Then we'll deal with him, of course." Suddenly Will feels smothered by a poisonous fog. His skin is numb and he can hear his pulse inside his head. "Have pleasant dreams…"

xxx

Will hears a robotic _wherrrrrr. _Opens his eyes. A ghastly plastic mask in the shape of man's face looms over him. Two burning blue eyes. Mason. "Wakey wakey, Mr. Graham."

"Where's Margot?"

"Ah yes, pretty little Margot, your late night buddy under the covers. At least you made it clear that she wasn't _completely _incompetent as a woman. Not that you had much to compare her to."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm so rich, I don't even have to ask people to spy on you. They just _do_ it. I know about your longtime infatuation with Alana Bloom, that lady doctor Hannibal shoved out of his office window. Just before gutting you. Tell me, what _exactly _did you do to him? I would love to top it." Mason waits in hungry envy.

"At least he didn't talk me into cutting off my own face," Will snaps back.

"I thought it was a fine idea at the time. And those cute dogs of yours didn't mind."

"A hungry dog will eat just about anything."

"So will a hungry pig."

The two men stare at each other in symmetrical hatred.

Mason takes a long look at Will before speaking again. "Once upon a time, there was a very poor, very hungry Italian. A detective. He saw the devil in the street one day. Like all wise men, he wondered how he could benefit from this chance occurrence. He reads the devil's history. Learns of his enemies. This wise Italian calls upon an angel that battled the devil. He tells the angel he's spotted the devil in Florence." He lets that revelation hang between them like a noose.

"You know where he is?"

Mason continues casually, "Sadly, the Italian was no match for Hannibal Lecter. But, my men were able to extract call logs from his cell. We may have a working number." A black cell phone appears from Cordell's lab coat.

xxx

Hannibal reads the last pages of _War and Peace _with a bored expression. He misses the hunt. The kill.

His cell phone rings.

Unknown number.

Toss the coin.

"Hello?"

Silence.

He is about to hang up the phone when he hears an annoyingly familiar voice. "Dr. Lecter. Mason Verger speaking. I'm here with Will Graham…your patient is lying in the medical wing of one of my very secure facilities. I would be happy to turn him over to you." More silence in Florence. "Trouble is, doc, if you don't take him off my hands, I'll be forced to kill him. I have anger issues, I _know. _No one's perfect."

"Hello, Will."

A chill goes through Will's heart.

Cordell places the phone against Will's cheek. He does not speak. Cordell slaps him hard across the cheek. Will makes no sound.

"Fine," Mason says. "Bring in the girl!"

The shape of a woman is dragged down the hall and set in front of his bed. She has a sack over her head. At first, he imagines the woman is Alana. But she wouldn't be standing…

"_Please,_" the woman cries.

Mason's eyes glitter at her. "Now I know you've only known little miss Molly for a short while, but I know you wouldn't want anything…_unsavory_ to happen to her. Or her son."

"You son of a bitch!" she struggles under the grip of Mason's thugs.

Will sighs. He is responsible for this woman's predicament. He should have known she wouldn't be safe. "Molly, it's ok. I'll…" but before he can complete his sentence, he remembers the phone pressed against his cheek. He hears breathing on the other end.

"Hello, Will."

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."

"Have you received my letter?" His tone is casually cordial.

Will swallows. "Yes."

"Do you dream, Will?…Still fishing with Abigail?"

"My head is the only place she's safe."

"You don't need to protect her anymore."

"You've made that abundantly clear."

"I will never let her memory go."

"Nor will I let yours go."

"Where are you, Hannibal?" Will feels brave, even with Mason and Cordell staring at him. Even with Hannibal's voice in his ear.

"Would you like to see me?"

"I want to see your face when they cuff you. I want to see you behind bars." Ever the honest man.

"Then we are at an impasse. For I would very much like to see you. Put Mason on the phone, please."

Cordell, who has been listening closely, takes the phone and places it to his master's ear.

Mason smiles. "Dr. Lecter!" he calls out cordially. "Yes I…yes, very good. And as far as…yes…yes, I think that sounds just fine. Good. good. Goodbye, for now." He hands up the phone. "Well, looks like you're going on a little trip, Mr. Graham."

The world is a giant room. Hannibal waits in a dark corner for Will to come find him. And he will. Now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Good evening, lovely Fannibals! I have finally been getting back to writing my Hannibal fics****—****mostly because of the brief respite from work the Holidays afford. In any case, I realize that not much time exists between us and Season Three, so before we go full steam ahead with the perfection assuredly in store (Bryan Fuller is my sprit animal) I wanted to dally a little in theory. I own nothing and seek nothing but reviews! I will be updating more quite soon, but I wanted to give you a little appetizer before what is to be the main course ; ) Bon appetite! **

Chapter 6

Hannibal Lecter dresses slowly and with precision. As of late, he has taken on a rather _relaxed _form of dress, attempting to hoodwink a few pesky museum employees into believing he was not a wealthy man. On the day he was to see Will Graham, he knew that keeping up appearances were essential. He would never admit how changed he felt after losing the boy those many months ago. Certainly not. Perhaps the blue suit he was wearing when Will had his first formal appointment—to stir feelings of comfort. He so clearly remembers the quiver in Will's lips as he spoke of seeing Garrett Jacob Hobbs in another man's grave. His first hallucination. Perhaps in order to gain Will's trust back, he would have to disorient him into a state of confused relaxation…that method of control had worked well with Miriam…

Mason would be easily managed. Even if he brought a worthy physical opponent, or attempted to take him by force, Hannibal was setting a trap that kept him clearly out of danger. His only concern was in securing Will and disappearing quickly.

xxx

The drive to the airport feels like a procession. Mason's men flank him in the back of a limousine. Will wonders why. He knows that there isn't any other destination meant for him in this life. The flight itself is rather pleasant. A lovely flight attendant offers him champagne. He sips from the glass flute and leans his head back. The wait would not be long now.

Will is hyperaware. He can't help but to overhear his "security" whispering about taking him to a secured location. He isn't going to be as cooperative as Mason. The fact that he was able to locate and entice Hannibal into a meeting makes his skin crawl with anticipation. Did his old doctor miss him? Or does he want to finish the job he began in his kitchen those many months ago? His endgame had to come to a different bloody conclusion. And Will was ready to make that happen.

As the plane lands, one of Mason's thugs tugs him by the arm. _It__'__s time to go. _

_ Meet my maker, _Will can't help but think after.

A small rented town car drives over cobblestone, past expensive shops and the glare of the rising sun. The car stops in from of a café.

"Get out!" the driver shouts without even turning his head.

He is thrown out of the car before he can even think. He falls onto hard stones and scrapes his hands. Knees crash into the ground. A bloody palm. His eyes dart up, searching for Hannibal. There is no sign. Then, a lovely woman with golden curls smiles down at him.

"Hello, Mr. Graham," Bedelia DuMaurier coos.

"Dr. DuMaurier…" he is stunned into silence. Of all people, he thought at least _she _had escaped him…

"May I buy you a cup of tea?" Her words are gentle. Her expression—impenetrable.

He can only say, _yes_. She leads him into the café and they sit at a small table.

They spend a long moment staring at each other before Will blurts out, "Did he find you here? You're in contact with him?"

"Yes…we are in contact. I've come here on his behalf."

No…he cannot match the woman sitting before him to the woman who had visited in that dark Baltimore basement. The Bedelia he had known was timid and kind. She offered him the comfort of knowing _someone else knew about Hannibal_. That was the only tangible proof he had back then, when his memories were lost. The woman he now saw sitting before him was a hard shell.

"Why?"

"I did not feel I had any choice in the matter," she says, before looking over her shoulder. "He also told me you had been taken hostage. Are you alright? Your eyes look red, and I saw that man push you out of the moving car…" her eager interest in his condition warmed him, but also made him afraid. She was not the first doctor who sought to "help" him.

"I'm fine. _Where is he?_" There is no more time to waist. His heart is pounding. The world begins to narrow into a slit.

"In my purse I have a pill. If you swallow the pill, I will take you to him." She states this as though she is the sphinx in the center of a giant labyrinth.

"What are you _saying_? What is he making you _do_?" Will is aggravated and he's burning up.

"He told me that I should not explain. _He would know_. I'm sorry. Frankly, I believe you should walk away. Take a plane ride somewhere you would not typically visit. Recuperate. You lost organs and had several major surgeries just last year. You still need time to heal." She looks him over, concerned.

"Some wounds will never heal. I need to see him. But I'm not swallowing any pills."

"Then I must leave you," she says sadly before slowly beginning to stand.

"No, no, stop," he grabs her hand and she sits back down. "_Please. _I'm sure you know what he did to me. To Abigail. He murdered her in some vain attempt to hurt me…"

"Hannibal has murdered many more for far less."

"He'll try to kill me again. For betraying him." His words come quietly.

"He will," she agrees.

When he holds out his hand, white as a flag greeting the shore, she takes it in her own. Her words are whispers in a deep cavern. "Remember that like you, the person he loves most is his greatest weakness. He has changed because of you, creating an environment of chaos and disorganization that Hannibal has not known since he was a young man. Play on his confidence. His whimsy. Appear meek, and allow him to dominate you…for as long as it takes."

"I'm guessing that comes from experience."

She does not feign to appear insulted by this comment. Instead, she pulls out a tiny medicine case, and places it in his hands. Will knows that if he swallows whatever drug is in this tiny capsule, he won't be able to trust his instincts. But at this point, what else can he do? He swallows the pill dry.

"You'll want to drink a lot of water with that. Just in case," she warns, appearing concerned. He obeys.

His eyes fall upon a painting of a very old man sipping tea. He finds the painting quaint—until he notices the man in the picture wink at him and raise his cup, as if in salute. Then he hears the gunshot.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, Fannibals! Happy New Year! I'm very excited about this fic, and I hope you have been enjoying it as much as I have writing it! We are currently entering Act II of this story—I intend to write three acts—hopefully completing the story before the third season airs. I own nothing but my devotion to Bryan Fuller and his Epic team of artists. Reviews are Greatly appreciated! **

Chapter 7

The pendulum swings. A woman screams. Tourists rush out of the café, scattering into the light. Bedelia has crumbled to the floor. Will stumbles towards her. He can no longer hear out of his left ear. The world is the sound of tea cups shattering. He blinks and sees that Bedelia hasn't been shot—her throat has been slashed, and she's bleeding out…_no, that__'__s not right_…he blinks again and there is a bullet wound in her shoulder. Her neck is fine. He presses his hands against her wound as his eyes wander up, searching out the shooter.

One of Mason's men appear, storming out of the kitchen. "You're coming with—"

The man is abruptly cut off when Will grabs a knife that had clattered to the floor and thrusts it against his neck.

"I have…children," he chokes out beneath the blade.

"_Where is he?_ Where is Hannibal Lecter!" Will demands. Then he notices the ants crawling all over the man's head. Crawling into his ears…

_No, I__'__m seeing things. _He squeezes his eyes shut. The silky voice he has grown to love whispers from deep in his subconscious. "What do you see, Will?"

"I don't know! He was supposed to be _here,_" the man under the blade stammers.

Will shoots his eyes at Bedelia. She is unconscious. The blood is beginning to pool beneath her. Without thinking, Will slams the goon's head ahead a table and throws him to the ground. He presses his hands against her wound again.

A young Italian man races into the café. "Sono un medico!" he shouts in Italian. "Un'ambulanza è in arrivo." The stranger pushes Will out of the way—_Hannibal removes Will__'__s hands from Abigail__'__s throat__—_past and present collide inside his brain.

Mason's goon stands—with the knife now in _his_ hand—and gazes menacingly at his quarry. Will's head feels like it's about to split open. He wants to close his eyes, (the light is burning his corneas) but instead, he scampers out of the café, searching for somewhere to collapse.

The street is buzzing with people screaming, running, trying to get away from the shooter. Fear intoxicates all in its path. Will runs into an alleyway and presses his back against a stone wall. The coolness of the stone comforts him. He needs to catch his breath, to _think. _His hands engulf his face as he takes a deep breath. _What to do? Where to go? _He had to find a phone. Call Jack. He needed to get to a phone, but where? He'd have to steal one. All he knew was that Hannibal was out there, right now. He knew the pill's side effects. He would be ready for Will. That was the problem.

He runs back into the street. A young woman with long auburn hair passes by. She is holding a telephone, and Will decides to just grab it and apologize later, when he notices she is holding a house phone…

"Hello?…Just a second. _Dad__'__s it for you_! Caller ID said it was blocked."

_Abigail. _Her hair flapped behind her as she disappeared around the corner of the avenue. It couldn't be. He mustn't chase her. _ABIGAIL IS DEAD _his brain screams. _Why can__'__t I focus? If I could just _think_ straight, then maybe I can get out of here. _Despite everything he knows to be true, he cannot help but to chase after the girl.

He sees a flash of auburn. The sound of his heartbeat breaks against his ears. He hears, _You think I__'__m the copycat? You think I killed Marissa_? echoing in the well of his mind—the last conversation he had with her before she disappeared. Her offense at the thought of such betrayal. And for what? Why would she have hurt her friend? He would always hate himself for that.

She throws her arm into the air and waves to someone. His eyes focus on the man walking over to greet her. Will squints into the distance. The man is tall and blonde…Hannibal smiles broadly and takes her arm in his. Hannibal turns to look behind him. His eyes do not fall on Will, but they are searching for him. When he does not find him, he whispers something into her ear and they wander into the gothic church that stands before them. What other path is left to him? Will steps cautiously into the church— as though into the mouth of Hell.


	8. Chapter 8

Bonjour Fannibals! I know it has been forever since I've updated-my students have been consuming my attention, but Spring Break is here and my love of Hannibal remains! I cannot believe only two short months stand between us and Season 3! In celebration of that, I will attempt to post more regularly. I own nothing, save my absolute adoration for this insane, perfect show.

Chapter 8

Will enters Santa Maria Novella with the caution of an old man. His steps become question marks on the smooth stone. After he passes through the aged entryway, he is struck by a rainbow of light beaming through enormous 15th century stained glass windows. The light plays on his face, as on the black and white marble facade. _The Madonna and Child_ watch him in public sadness.

His eyes fall upon _The Holy Trinity_. Footsteps echo in the empty church as he makes his way towards the sculpture. The patrons are the kneeling figures of the judge and his wife, members of the Lenzi family. A cadaver tomb situated below the statue carries the epigram: "I was once what you are, and what I am you will become." When he reaches the tomb, he notices a severed human ear. It winks at him in silent sarcasm. He quickly shoots his eyes around the aisles, but does not see Hannibal. Still, the ear looks like a fresh dismemberment. A symbol of betrayal and anguish. Apparently Hannibal wasn't over the whole mess either; the Chesapeake Ripper was expanding his notoriety in Florence.

His eyes eviscerate the church. Gall floods off of him, scented in heat. He is suddenly exhausted. His bones ache. In confusion, his knees buckle beneath him. Bone meets cold stone.

"Hannibal!" Will cries into the open space. His eyes begin to follow a trail of blood on the ground. He manages to stand long enough to follow the blood path down a winding staircase. Air floods around him in sickly coldness. He knows he should not follow Hannibal into the dark. Not in this condition. He had been almost excited to see his old friend again, in the flesh, but that was when he had felt strong and sure of his clarity. Right now, the world was tilting at his feet. He kept fighting the sweet feeling of falling asleep. Whatever Bedelia had given him felt like a fever dream. A reminder of his former insanity.

He manages not to fall down the stairs, though he felt half sure he would. How can he see the steps through the flashbacks of that damn strobe? Wait no, he notices that he is in the darkness of catacombs, and sure as his confusion, he sees a light flashing before his eyes. He tries to follow the source, and this is when he collapses. Two very self assured feet step from the shadows and stop beside him. Will doesn't hear him say hello. But in his dreams, a darkness lurks beyond the trees. A presence with long horns and red eyes.

…

Will wakes in a cage.

The enclosure is crafted with hard steel. He is lying on his back. A glass of water rests next to his head. He lifts his head up to take a quick sip of water—feel the coolness in his throat, which is incredibly sore—which is when Hannibal emerges from the shadows. He had been reading a book in a wing chair only a few feet away.

"Good morning, Will." Hannibal does not smile. He examines him with laser eyes. Like old times.

"What is this? Baltimore wasn't enough for you? Had to put me in a new cage?"

Hannibal begins to pace beside the cage. "We once spoke of ideals. I thought I had an ideal of you. I never imagined how powerful you had become. I underestimated your need for vengeance. A shocking mistake, given my very same need when I was a young man."

"We are _nothing_ alike."

"If you were to have gutted me, Will, I would have lived. I would have found you, the way that you have found me."

"Why do I have the feeling that I would still be the one who ends up in a cage?"

"One never knows."

Will imagines breaking the bars and tearing Hannibal's throat out with his teeth. Instead he sighs, "Do you have anything to eat?"

Hannibal stops pacing. "You would eat, if I offered you food?"

"What, did you have time to sauté someone while I was unconscious? That young woman you paid to look like Abigail?"

"I'm afraid I do not know who you are referring to. A young woman who looked like Abigail?"

"Oh, don't play coy. You drugged me."

"Tell me, what did you discuss with Dr. DuMaurier?"

"She told me to walk away. Then she told me that if I wanted to see you, I had to take your medication, doctor."

"Hmm. Was it a pill or a needle?" Hannibal seems genuinely confused.

"You're trying to convince me she drugged me on her own. It won't work. This is your manifestation, no one else's."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong. This scenario is entirely _your _doing. I left you to die in Baltimore. You tilted your head into the stream. I gave you the peace you craved. Why return to this wasteland of a consciousness? Who is left to grieve us, Will?"

"You would prefer me rotting in the ground?"

"Our consciousness transforms when we die, lays root, finds new nature."

"Don't hide behind philosophical pretensions. Not now. You enjoyed gutting me. You think I _deserved_ it, that you were the victim in that room, even when you left us to bleed to death together. _Abigail died in that room_. _I almost died.__"_

"Freddie Lounds reported that you _had_ died. It was weeks later when she printed that photograph of you in the ICU. When I discovered where you had been taken, it was fairly simple to acquire the ambulance and emergency room reports. Did you know your heart stopped beating for exactly nine minutes?"

"No."

"Yes. In Japanese culture, the number nine symbolizes suffering."

"And in English, the letter c stands for cookie. Or _cage_. Enough therapy, doctor. Where are we?"

Hannibal takes a long, thoughtful breath. "I cannot offer you clarity. But I can bring you some warm broth. You aren't looking well."

"I do tend to feel sick in your presence."

Hannibal's face tenses. He does not speak for a long moment. "That was rude, Will."

"When one has no friends, one becomes a bit prickly," Will mutters angrily. He thinks of Alana. The comforting hand she placed on his cheek so many months ago. The hand that held his in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, during his trial. Finally, the hand that she blindly withdrew. And then Hannibal's hand on his cheek. Hannibal holding his wrist, stopping him from murdering the social worker. Hannibal plunging the knife into his gut and tearing…

"I was…also rude," Hannibal replies. He tilts his head, attempts to assess his patient. Will's skin is pale, and he appears off balance. The antipsychotic medication in his water would assist in disarming him for crucial therapy.

Will watches in exhausted horror as antlers begin to grow out of Hannibal's head. They appear to be solid gold, sharpening to points. "You…" Will steadies his breathing. _This isn't real. Maybe I__' __m in a coma__…__or dead__… _"…put me in a cage. I was dying of an illness you _detected_, you watched me…deteriorate…you lied to Frederick about me. Did you know he kept me in that cell twenty-four hours a day? Unless I was having a "therapy session." He would sit the entire staff in front of me. They stared at me like a freak. Because of _you_. Because of the atrocities that _you _committed. But I remember what you did. I remember now…the light. The injections. Some of the seizures."

"I provided necessary treatment to an ill patient," Hannibal relies coolly.

"You can do better than _that_," he spat back.

"Do you not already see my perspective?"

"…I was profiling the Chesapeake Ripper when Jack Crawford asked you to give me a psychological profile, without my consent. You were delighted, of course."

"Of course." Hannibal's consent is admission enough.

"When you noticed I was having headaches, nightmares, erratic sleepwalking patterns, you began to diagnose me with encephalitis."

"I had never witnessed a patient suffer through the beginning and end of that particular illness. Few physicians have. Your symptoms were very pronounced in my presence, but less so with Jack and Alana."

Bile rises in Will's throat. "Because you made me feel_ safe_. I thought, when I stepped into your office, that I was safe. That you would help me."

"I wanted to help you, Will. Unfortunately, you are an excellent profiler. I was able to ensure that you received medical treatment, and when you were ready to accept therapy again, I was more than happy to oblige."

"Only after the encephalitis progressed to its most dangerous stage. Hallucinations. Blackouts. Seizures. Coma. And then you graciously left me in the care of Dr. Chilton. That was a personal affront."

Hannibal inclines his head. "You were released. And you came back to me."

"Because you took _her. _I couldn't let you go."

"I needed her help. And her ear."

Will envisions Hannibal looming above him, plastic tube in hand. Her severed ear. Losing consciousness, choking, needing to throw up, feeling someone carry him to bed. He remembers the look of bored shock on Hannibal's face. The clarity that comes with time, too late.

"And I needed her to be ok. To survive," Will grinds his teeth.

"She did survive—for a time. But she was too terrified to be a true companion," Hannibal muses sadly. "Unlike you. You aren't afraid, are you, Will?" He steps towards the bars of Will's cage. Then, he opens the little door. Will scrambles out and jumps on top of him, grabbing his lapels, a look of madness in his red eyes.

"You—stole—_everything_—from me. My sanity, my home, the people that I, that I care for…why? Why can't you be satisfied?" The answer is an itch crawling across his belly.

"Can the sun be satisfied? Can the moon? Can God? And if he ever is, why not stop the Earth from turning and drop the stars from their eternal turns into the emptiness below? There has been beauty, art and love. Why should anyone want more than they have already enjoyed?"

Will punches Hannibal in the face. Hard. Again. And Again. "I should kill you. Right here, right now. Bury you in an ancient tomb and walk away. Never think of you again."

The room is quiet with the inevitability of action.

"But you cannot, can you?" Will's hands loose their grip on his lapels and circle his throat, tightly. Hannibal's arms are limp at his sides. He is choosing not to resist.

"You _want _me to. You want a legacy of blood." Will lets go and backs away in horror. "But I'm not the man you tried to create. I'm not the man you want me to be. Your ideal."

"Aren't you?"

"I am nothing like you."

"What are you doing here, Will? Chasing me? You made it all the way to Florence. You took the pill. You followed me into this church, into my waiting arms. Why? If you wanted to arrest me, Jack would be by your side. If you wanted me dead, you would have at least tried to kill me—not that I would have allowed that. I was waiting to feel your hate wrap around my neck. But you let go. You set me free. Just as I set you free."

Will buckles under his logic. "You're going to prison. In Baltimore. You can sit in my old cell and feel the days slip past you on my old cot, under the pulse of the florescent light. That is as close as we will ever be again."

"No. I think I'd rather go to Paris. And I would like you to join me," Hannibal suggests, almost casually.

Will looks confused until he feels the sting of a needle in his side. He provided the proximity—all Hannibal had to do was place his hand in his pocket and move an inch closer to his quarry.

"Ahh, n—"

Hannibal grabs him as he collapses forward. "Shh, shh, it's all right. I've got you."


	9. Chapter 9

Dear Fannibals,

Thank you so much for your continuous support and love! We're a tight-knit community with high standards and excellent taste, so it blows my mind that you enjoy my paltry attempts at bringing Bryan Fuller's gorgeous masterpiece to life. My words are few compared to Mads and Hugh, who say ten thousand times as much with a single expression. Siiiiiiiighhhhhh XD Aaaaaanyway, I'm having so much fun with this fic, and I intend to keep posting regularly, as Season 3 is closing in! Please like, comment, and follow! Now COME ANG GET IT, FANNIBALS!

3

Chapter 9

Before Hannibal can safely transport Will to Paris, with a pitstop in Milan, he knows he has to tidy up one last bit of business here in Florence, as well as to pick up some necessary supplies. His first stop is the hospital.

The Emergency Room is cold with the stale taste of tears lingering in quiet pockets of air. He smiles generously at a rather tragic looking night nurse. Her hair is tossed into a messy bun with strands jutting out at all angles, and her lips are encased in wrinkles brought on by age and smoking. There is a crumpled tissue next to her wrist, which stinks of generic perfume.

"Yes?" she grumbles at him, hardly looking up from the monitor she is currently observing.

"Good evening. I am looking for my wife, Bella Graham," he replies, holding back a sneer. Unsanitary medical professionals are a…pet peeve of his.

"Yes, yes, gunshot victim. Room 669."

His movement are fluid and fast. He arrives at Bedelia's bedside and places a lily on her bedside table. She stirs.

"Hannibal?"

"I am here."

Her head wobbles back and forth, and then her eyes open. She quirks a quick smile at him. "Is it safe for you to be here?" she whispers.

"No, but that hardly matters at the moment. How do you feel?" he moves her hospital gown away from the gauze covering her wound and assesses the injured area. No irritation, no sign of infection. Good.

"I feel a dull throbbing, but the pain is buried beneath the medication. Unless I move, of course. You wouldn't happen to have some wine, would you?" she asks jokingly. They laugh quietly together. "No, I suppose not…where is Will? Did he escape Mason's men?"

"Will is safe. I must leave with him. Tonight."

The room is quiet for a long moment. "I understand. Where will you go?" Does he detect a look of envy in her eyes?

Hannibal shakes his head. "It is unwise for me to tell you…I need you to do something for me."

"Yes?"

"Call Jack Crawford. Tell him everything you know."

Bedelia tries to sit up, and fails. She collapses back onto the bed, shivering. "You aren't thinking clearly, Hannibal. If I call Jack and tell him where you are, and that you have _Will Graham__…_the hunt will follow you wherever you go."

"I know. Nevertheless, call Jack. You need the protection of the FBI. I fear that Mason's men are near, and you are still in grave danger. Will and I will be safe once we leave the country, which will not take very long. I have already begun to make arrangements. Once we are settled, I will send for you."

"Jack Crawford will not allow me to escape his sight again."

"Do you trust me?" The question is a scalpel, cutting through her concern.

She looks at him squarely in the eyes. "No."

He leaves, and a wave of fear finally shudders from her lips in quiet exhalation. Her gaze focuses on the phone next to her head. She stares at it for a long time.

…

Hannibal's next stop is a funeral home. He eyes a rather shabby looking hearse, but wait, ah yes, a much nicer one sleeps beneath the stars behind the old.

He enters the funeral home humming. An old man in a worn suit greets him in clouds of cigar smoke. Hannibal emerges amidst the smoke, smiling. "I require your hearse," he says, casually.

"Sorry for your loss. We're closed," a cough rattles from the old man's throat. He does not cover his mouth. The cigar wags precariously between dry lips.

We will not linger here and watch as Hannibal dispatches this rather rude old man. In his youth, Edgar P. Barnes was of an unfortunately somber disposition, and in old age, that disposition hardened, crusting over any polite pretensions his mother may have vainly attempted to instill. Let us assume that Mr. Barnes was waiting for Hannibal as others may wait for Death, when life becomes a tedious place. He did not scream. Whether he was too tired to do so, or due to the cigar lodged inside his throat, we may never know. Still, parts of Mr. Barnes would come prove useful in a day or so, and though he never appeared to be a very giving man, Edgar always did secretly wish to help the needy.

The hearse vanishes into the night, gleaming beneath a billion stars.

…

It comes as quite a surprise to Will when he wakes from his drugged sleep inside of a coffin. A plastic oxygen mask is pressed against his face, and he feels the cold air filling his lungs. Everything is black and fluid. He feels his body moving through space, and he knows Hannibal is the mover. All he can do is lie still and pray for the light of day.

Visions flood his shattered consciousness. Jack's look of useless concern. His caution against bating Hannibal fell on deaf ears. If only Will had listened. He could be safe in Wolf Trap, playing with Winston, Buster, Clue, George, Scotch and Sherlock. Who would protect his dogs while he was trussed up in a coffin, headed God-knows-where?

When the trunk opens, and he is carted out of the hearse, he is asleep. Despite the abrupt jerking motion of being tugged out of the vehicle, he does not wake. Hannibal opens the lid to find his equal in a state of fitful slumber. What he fights in his dreams watches him in waking life. Hannibal checks his pulse before depositing him into a wheelchair. He leaves the oxygen mask on Will in order for his story to appear legitimate. Humming, he wheels Will into a small apartment. Hannibal resided here when he was a young man in the summer of '89. The same kindly landlord kept the rooms clean for him, though he never planned to return. Still, he was wise to keep the residence, in case of unforeseen emergencies of this nature.

He leaves Will seated close to a large window, allowing the morning sun to mark his face with slices of gold. He takes a seat on the love seat adjacent to him, watching as Will slowly wakes.

Will opens his eyes as though he has forgotten the glory of sight. Light floods through his vision, burning and blurring the world in a whirl of gold. He removes the mask with the movements of an old man. Squeezing his eyes closed to adjust his vision, he avoids his foe, yet he senses Hannibal through his lids, through his bones, straight to his very core. There, a darkness lurks with a familiar face.

"How are you feeling?" Another callous attempt at conversation.

"Where are we?" Will squints, gazing through the glare of the window, but only sees a cobblestone path and an audience of multicolored flowers.

"Somewhere I used to live, when I was a young man. How is your head?"

"Throbbing."

"That will pass."

"I used to believe that all things would pass. Now I know some things never will."

"What will not pass, Will?"

"Regret. Loss. Pain…You."

Hannibal smiles. He imagines they are back in his office. He imagines Will smiling in return.

"Like all people, I have a beginning, and I will have an end." The narcissist protests his deification.

"But your story will live on. Fifty, one hundred years from now, mothers will be warning their children about Hannibal the Cannibal. You'll get what you've always wanted."

"What do I want, Will?"

Will whispers the words, "You want what I want."

"What do I want, Will?" Hannibal whispers in return.

"A legacy." His voice is a broken shard of glass. His eyes are filled with Abigail. Clear tears pour out. He stands. "I will not bear witness. Not any more." He moves towards the door. He stops, turning. "Why bring me here?"

"This was to be our first stop. I'm hoping it still is. Will, come with me. Let me show you the beauty of this world, which was created to sustain and elevate you. Don't go back to the darkness of the FBI's corridors, to work for men and women who would use your mind to its destruction. What waits for you in wolf trap? A pack of dogs?"

"They were better friends to me than you ever were."

Hannibal sniffs, appearing injured. "You are really going to have to work on your manners while we are here, Will. In return, I will not eat the rude. Not unless you wish to join my dinner table."

This is not an arrangement Will ever imagined. Could he stop the Ripper from ripping, simply using proximity? How many could he save?

"I only ask that you stay here. With me."

Will steps forward. In the wake of all this ruin, he has forgotten what it feels like to protect himself.

"You don't have the ability to stop. It's not in your nature," Will replies cooly.

"You believe I am not in control?"

"You control everything…but yourself."

Hannibal tilts his head. He had forgotten what a real conversation feels like inside of his mouth. All of the burnt edges. "For so long I have walked this Earth alone. Can you deny me the simple pleasures in this life?"

"Cannibalism is not a simple pleasure. It's madness." Will's eyes brim with fear.

"Do you believe that I am mad? Do I appear mad?" He has never looked as dapper in a white button down rolled up at the sleeves, golden strands of tussled hair ticking his eyelashes. This is not something Will can admit, or even register.

"No. That's why you've won. You're the best actor on the planet. People trust you because they want to believe you. Because if they didn't believe…if they knew what you were, they would never be able to sleep at night." He is visibly shaking, but Hannibal is the one who recoils.

"Then you are rejecting my offer."

Will shakes his head ever so slightly. If you weren't Hannibal Lecter, you wouldn't have seen it. Nor would you have heard the great iron doors inside of Will's mind lock with a terrible groan.


End file.
